Thrive
by Fati Sasspants
Summary: It is only their first or second winter together, and Splinter fears the turtles are fading faster than ever before. If they can just hold out until spring, they might stand a chance at survival... mid-mutation.


He is trying, but failing. He knows this—_has _known, even since before the first one passed, huddled closely against the rest, desperately seeking warmth. They had nudged and circled it, sensing something the matter, but he'd shooed them away, tried to shield them. This one started out like the others, curious and healthy (as healthy as they could be, considering the circumstances), but quickly began to decline. It slept more and more, and ate less, stumbled when it walked, and eventually stopped eating all together. Something told him it had much to do with a wound from a sewer-rat, irked at being lead around by its tail for closer inspection. From then on, he learned to becurious from afar, but the lesson was learned far too late.

The wound festered and grew, never quite healing.

Instinct told him to move the nest away from the already-rotting carcass; to avoid it at all costs. It wasn't until later when he felt himself growing more aware did he go back and cover what remained with newspaper and broken slabs of concrete from a failed sidewalk. He remembered hearing irate construction workers beating at it with hammers, dropping slab after slab into an open manhole.

Come summer, (if they last that long), they will flourish—provided there is enough food. He quickly caught on that the scraps and leftovers that satisfied his belly did next to nothing for them, and every time they doubled in size, their hungry cries did, too. He would try and distance himself, then, anticipating another passing, but he always brought back what he could. It seems to him, that with each passing day, his mind opens, and he is able to accomplish more. His size has increased, as well, which provides them better warmth from the cold than before. All these things leave him with a small ounce of hope that, maybe, these little ones will make it to see another spring.

And when luck occasionally finds him, and he is able to bring back enough for everyone, he is rewarded with glimpses of normalcy among them. Even chilled to the bone, after a good meal they attempt play, and he gets to know them better. One is energetic, into everything; always, always moving, even in sleep. Another is unafraid, going further down the tunnel than is allowed, curiosity aflame. The next is attentive, preferring to watch first and do later. The last is quiet, preferring to rummage through the dark, dank wasteland, treating everything he finds as a treasure.

It is difficult to remember anything distinguishing about the first, and though he can do nothing about it, it bothers him greatly.

He feels all four pressed firmly against his own body, fingers and faces pushing as deep into the fur as possible, and finds himself doubtful of their suvival. Each year it becomes harder. Harder to provide adequate shelter, harder to find food. There is a bond between them, something that hadn't been there before, but now that he feels it, he is frightened, for he also senses them fading. And so he cautiously moves them again, this time closer to the broken slabs of concrete, just in case. He wishes not to travel far with them, if they do pass, and thinks it would be better to lay them to rest in close proximity to one another. The thought hadn't occurred to him until just recently, and sometimes, he finds himself wishing it never had. There is something securing and comforting about that obliviousness from days past, before the mutation began, and some days he badly wants to return to it.

There are voices in his mind, memories he doesn't quite remember, and they come to him often. He recalls the face of a man he thinks was once his master. There is a near maddening urge to do something, to teach…something, to these small creatures he's grown so attached to. Something he feels crucial to their survival, but what, he isn't sure. When there is finally time for him to rest, he concentrates hard on bringing these memories out, searching to find an answer before it is too late.

One day, he brought home with him a book, intending to rip the pages out and re-insulate the ever-growing nest, when he noticed how taken they were with the cover. He realized, then, going through the pages at their urging, that there were colors beyond green and gray and the whitest of whites. He keeps the book wrapped in a food-wrapper, one that seems to protect from moisture. He has a feeling it may be useful, someday.

Soon, it will be spring. The snow will melt and people will leave their dwellings again. His findings will increase, hopefully even double from last years, and he has a strong feeling that if they make it just a little longer, things will be all right.

He hopes they thrive.

* * *

**_This came to me one night when I couldn't sleep and school-time was drawing nearer. While totally awesome, I always found it sort of strange that the ooze helped them rather than harmed them. Growing to the sizes they did, and being strong and healthy enough to even be able to learn Ninjitsu? That they survived at all is a miracle in itself. So, anyway, I came up with this. Enjoy. :)_**


End file.
